fumbling towards ecstasy
by dickpuncher420
Summary: And, spirits help him, Zuko must be really tired, because he finds himself wanting to lean over and kiss Sokka until they're both breathless and hot and panting. Not again.
1. part i

It's not exactly the best moment for Zuko to realize that he has the sudden, burning desire to kiss Sokka—and maybe run his fingers through his hair and under his shirt and also trace his name on his chest with his tongue and—

 _Whoa._

He is in the _middle of a meeting_ , surrounded by old men bickering about politics and trade routes, and his brain suddenly decides that _that_ is a good thing to think about? Zuko feels his face heat and ducks his chin into his collar, glancing at the Water Tribe ambassador to his left.

Sokka, of course, is oblivious to Zuko's predicament, as he is too busy passionately arguing with a council member about the importance of women in positions of power. Sokka is on his feet, gesticulating wildly with fire in his eyes, and there is an air of confidence surrounding him that has the elder man looking on in speechless, stony silence—and that, for some reason, Zuko finds ridiculously attractive. He tries to swallow around the dryness in his throat and focus his thoughts.

Zuko knows it's not really Sokka's place to be making such a fuss, but he doesn't do anything to stop it. Councilman Yu is a bit of an asshole anyways, and besides, Sokka is in his element, and he looks really, really good…

Zuko groans inwardly. This needs to stop. This is not the time, this is not the place, this is not the _person_. Spirits, this is so wrong—it's _Sokka,_ for crying out loud. Sokka, his best friend. Sokka, who he should definitely _not_ be daydreaming about in the middle of a council meeting. Sokka, who he should not be daydreaming about _at all._

Zuko wants to press his face into a pillow and scream. Where did these thoughts even come from?

From his right comes a chuckle. Uncle Iroh leans over to nudge Zuko in the side, a slight grin playing on his lips.

"Who knew that Sokka was so talented with his mouth?" he says.

Zuko nearly chokes. He looks over at Iroh in disbelief, wondering if that… _phrasing_ was intentional. But Iroh sips innocently at his tea, eyes trained on the argument playing out before them.

Zuko sighs and reaches for his own cup of tea, wishing desperately for a cold bucket of water to dump over his head.

…

It's late. Zuko sits hunched over his desk, a brush balanced between his fingers, blinking blankly at the scrolls spread out before him. A candle flickers by his hand, and he toys idly with the flame, weaving it between his fingers like a trickster with a coin.

The night drags on.

He sighs, drops the brush, and scrubs at his face. They've been reviewing the scrolls for hours, and his eyes burn from reading and rereading new laws and trade requests from all corners of the world. All he wants to do is sleep.

Zuko peeks between his fingers at Sokka, sprawled on the floor of Zuko's chambers, scrolls scattered every which way. He has the end of a brush caught between his teeth, and his hair has come partly undone from its usual wolftail, several strands hanging and framing his face. As Zuko watches, he moves to jot down something on the scroll in front of him, his face screwed up in concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips. Zuko smothers a grin at the sight.

He feels a sudden surge of gratitude towards Sokka, who had taken it upon himself many months ago to help with the endless paperwork that was sent in the Zuko's direction—even though he wasn't _really_ supposed to be helping him. Nobody really seems to care, though. So long as it meets the Fire Lord's approval, they don't give a damn about how it gets done.

He's startled when Sokka suddenly scrambles to his feet, a scroll clutched in his hands, and saunters over to Zuko's desk to unceremoniously slam it down in front of him. He opens his mouth, to yell at him, maybe— _Sokka, what the fuck?—_ but Sokka places a finger to Zuko's lips before he can get anything out.

"Look at this: I found something weird. Trade request from Ba Sing Se…"

Zuko freezes at the contact, but Sokka doesn't seem to notice, and he continues blithely on. Zuko thinks he might be saying something—his gaze is trained on the scroll in front of him, his lips are moving, and he seems to be pointing something out. It's probably important.

But Zuko is a bit…distracted. Because Sokka is really, really close, one hand braced on the back of Zuko's chair, and he's leaning over him to gesture to the characters painted on the page, and there's something that smells like ice and the sea and _Sokka_ and Zuko can hardly focus. His eyes are locked on Sokka's face—he looks exhausted, but there's a light in his eyes and a tilt to his lips that Zuko finds himself drawn to. He has a dab of ink smeared across his cheekbone and his hair is falling into his eyes and Zuko can't help the pull in his gut—because Sokka is really, incredibly attractive.

And, spirits help him, Zuko must be really tired, because he finds himself wanting to lean over and kiss Sokka until they're both breathless and hot and panting.

 _Not again_.

His gaze drifts down to Sokka's lips. He's still talking—Zuko really should be listening—and Zuko stares openly at the way his mouth forms the words. A baring of teeth, a pursing of the lips, a flick of the tongue. Zuko wants to trap the words with his tongue and swallow every syllable, wants to bite down on Sokka's lip and hear the sounds he makes—they're bound to be more interesting than what Sokka has to say now. Zuko wants to pin Sokka to his desk and run his hands up his chest, pull his hair loose from that ridiculous wolftail, mark a path up his neck. Zuko wants to—he wants—

Sokka then chooses that moment to pause and dart his tongue out to wet his lips, and Zuko almost chokes at the sight, because _holy shit_. He pulls in a sharp breath, his pulse hammering. Sokka glances over at him.

"Zuko, are you even listening to me?" he says.

Zuko doesn't think he's capable of forming words, so he smiles sheepishly and shakes his head. Sokka laughs— _Oh, fuck,_ Zuko thinks—and leans back, extending his hand.

"You know, I think it's a bit past your bedtime, oh great and mighty Fire Lord," he teases. "You should probably go to beddie-bye." Zuko shoots him a half-hearted glare but allows Sokka to grasp his hand.

He steadfastly ignores the flutter in his gut at the contact and, instead of using Sokka to pull himself up, he leans over and plants his lips on the back of Sokka's hand in a mocking kiss of servitude.

It's not exactly the kiss he's looking for, but he's not about to tell that to Sokka.

"Your wish is my command, Ambassador Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe," Zuko says, head bowed, peering up at him through his eyelashes. Sokka laughs and pulls away, swatting at his head. Zuko ducks and grins, then sweeps smoothly to his feet to poke Sokka in the side.

He wants to sigh in relief. This is normal—this casual, playful banter between them. Not…whatever it was that was running through Zuko's head earlier. He needs to put that behind him, because Sokka is his best friend, and nothing more. He really shouldn't be fantasizing about doing… _that_ to him.

Zuko determinedly quashes the fluttering in his stomach and the giddiness in his chest when Sokka slings his arm over his shoulder as they stumble over to Zuko's bed. He tries to avoid looking at Sokka's lips, too. Because Sokka is his friend. Sokka is his _friend_ , and that's it.

But Sokka is apparently also his friend with no concept of personal space, because he's pushing Zuko back against his mattress, flat on his back, and then sprawling across Zuko's chest like some sort of entitled feline.

Zuko's breath catches in his throat, because having Sokka's weight pressing down on him like that is definitely not helping matters. He moves to shove him off before he does something incredibly stupid, like flip them over and kiss Sokka senseless. But before Zuko can move an inch, Sokka brings his hands up over his head and stretches, all long limbs and taut muscles.

He stiffens. The feeling of Sokka's shoulder blades digging into his abdomen would be enough to make him lose it, really, but then Sokka makes some sort of unholy _noise_ , and Zuko can almost _feel_ his pupils dilate.

Sokka yawns and smacks his lips, still stretched out over Zuko. "Man, I'm _bushed_ ," he groans, and then he makes the _noise_ again.

 _Spirits._

There's a flurry of movement, and suddenly Zuko finds himself looking down on Sokka, his hands gripping Sokka's wrists and pinning them to either side of his head.

"Don't _ever_ do that again," Zuko snarls.

Sokka looks rightfully terrified and confused.

"I—I—what?" he babbles. "What did I do?"

And Zuko leans down, close enough to feel Sokka's breath puff over his jaw, hot and damp and sweet. He feels Sokka's wrists flex in his grip, pulse thrumming between his fingers, and Sokka's throat bobs as he swallows, audibly, nervously. Zuko is painfully aware of every movement Sokka makes; the rise and fall of his chest—his legs pressing, shifting against his own—the slight, anxious curling of his fingers. Sokka's eyes are wide with alarm and something that Zuko can't name, and they flicker over Zuko's face, searching, searching, waiting…

He can feel his pulse racing through his veins, and Sokka is so, so close, so tempting, so warm, and Zuko feels reckless, stupid and curious and reckless—

So Zuko brings his thigh up, pressing between Sokka's legs, and watches as his eyes flutter shut, soft as a feather, and there's a gasp and a small sound coming from Sokka's lips.

 _Fuck._

Zuko kind of wants to die.

He brings his lips down to hover over Sokka's. It's so close, so tantalizingly close, so _excruciatingly_ close, and Sokka's breath ghosts over his mouth, his jaw, his tongue, his teeth.

Zuko exhales, a flame tickling the back of his throat.

" _That_ ," he says.

Sokka pulls in a shuddering breath through his nose, eyelashes flickering. Zuko wants to press closer, close the distance until they're sharing the same breath, gasping and hot and wet and not enough.

And he could, really. There's nothing stopping him and he wants it so badly, and Sokka—Sokka is—Sokka is tilting his chin up and it's almost an _invitation_ and he could do it, Zuko could do it, he wants to do it, _needs_ to do it—

But—

 _Shit._

He can't.

Not like this.

And he's pulling back and dropping Sokka's wrists like they've burned him, and he's scrubbing at his lips—but nothing happened, nothing happened—but it _almost did—_

He's halfway across the room before Sokka realizes what has happened. Sokka's cry of _"Zuko!"_ follows him, and it sounds confused and desperate and angry all at once. Zuko doesn't want to look at him, but he does anyways, and he instantly wishes he hadn't. Because Sokka's hair is sticking up in every direction and his clothes are rumpled and he looks incredibly frustrated and Zuko wants nothing more than to stalk back over there and press him into the sheets and have his filthy way with him.

Instead, he turns away and, fists clenched, grinds out, "Sokka, I think you should leave."

There's the sound of Sokka's feet hitting the ground, and then his voice, "Zuko, what the _fuck—_ "

Zuko cuts him off. "Sokka, please. Just—" He stops and fists his hands in his hair. "Please," he says, his voice small.

He hears Sokka sigh in defeat. Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko watches as he pads over to the door, pulling it open and throwing Zuko one last look before stepping out.

The door clicks shut, and Zuko buries his face into his hands and groans. He wants to throw something across the room and then set himself on fire. Maybe jump out of a window, for good measure.

Instead, he flops face down onto his bed and screams.

…

"You seem awfully troubled recently, nephew."

Zuko glares at Iroh from across the table. He wants to make a snappy retort, but his uncle has already directed his attention elsewhere.

"And Sokka, you've hardly touched your food! If there's something wrong with it, I'm sure I can alert the cooks." He chuckles. "If there is one thing I cannot stand for, it's bad food."

Zuko steals a glance at Sokka. He has his head down and is poking diligently at the contents of his plate. At Iroh's words, he lifts his head and flicks his eyes towards Iroh, then briefly to Zuko, before staring down at his plate again. "No, it's fine," he mumbles, voice quiet.

Zuko shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The tension in the air is overwhelming, and he wants nothing more than to be excused. He feels sick.

"Ah, that's good, then," Iroh says, seemingly oblivious to the awkward situation. He gestures to the teacup clenched between Zuko's fingers. "More tea, Zuko?" he asks.

Zuko wants to strangle Iroh. Nearly a week after "the incident", his uncle had invited him to breakfast, assuring him that it would be a private affair. Zuko had accepted, grateful for a break from the paperwork that he had buried himself in. Of course, Iroh had neglected to mention that Sokka would also be attending. Sokka, whom Zuko had not spoken to since "the incident". Sokka, who was the reason why Zuko had holed himself in his office to lose himself in paperwork. Sokka, who was the reason for Zuko's "troubled" appearance.

And _of course_ Iroh knew, because Iroh knew everything.

Zuko forces himself to breathe. Instead of lashing out, as he would very much like to do, he places his teacup on the table and says, as calmly as he can, "Thank you, Uncle. That would be nice."

Iroh lifts the teapot and makes an exaggerated expression of surprise. "Oh dear, it seems as if we're all out of tea. If you two will excuse me, I must go make some more."

Zuko's eyes widen and he rushes to assure Iroh that the servants can take care of it and that there's no need for him to get up.

"Nonsense," Iroh says. "None of them know how to make tea properly; they can hardly even tell the difference between oolong and green tea. I must do it myself." And he leaves, muttering about the subtle variances in tea from the different rings of Ba Sing Se.

Zuko seethes and grips the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. That stupid, conniving _bastard_. Of course he had planned this all out, to leave Zuko alone with Sokka. That _asshole_ , he's going to set his wrinkly ass on fire when he gets back—

Sokka clears his throat from beside him. "Look, Zuko, I can just…leave, if you want," he says, gaze trained on the table.

Zuko suddenly has a hard time swallowing past the lump in his throat, and he struggles to find something to say.

"I, uh…" He coughs. "No, it's okay. You can stay. I mean, if you want, that is." Zuko has to resist the urge to plant his face into the table. He's so _stupid,_ why does he have to be so _awkward—_

"Okay," Sokka says quietly.

They sit in silence, and Zuko fidgets nervously as the seconds drag by. Should he say something? He sneaks glances at Sokka, but he seems preoccupied with pushing his food around his plate, his head propped in his hand and staring at the far wall. But Zuko can feel the tension lingering in the air, so thick that it's almost hard to breathe. And he should say something, he really should say something, because he'll hate himself forever if he doesn't.

But instead he sits there, heart in his throat and palms sweating, because what the fuck can he _say?_ Apologize for pinning him to his bed and almost kissing him the other day? Admit that he can't stop thinking about what Sokka's lips might taste like? _Absolutely not._

Sokka makes it easier for him by breaking the silence first.

"So…are we going to talk about it?"

Except that's not much better, is it? Zuko feels his heart stutter before picking up again.

"Talk about…what?" he asks. Maybe if he plays dumb Sokka will drop it.

No such luck. "Zuko," Sokka sighs, exasperated. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Zuko huffs and looks over at Sokka, who's fixing him with a stare that is _almost_ but not quite a glare. He drops his gaze, because there's something else there that Zuko doesn't really want to read into.

"Yeah," he mutters, "I do."

And then there's more silence as Zuko tries to figure out what to say. He can feel Sokka waiting, expectant, but Zuko feels frozen. Trapped. He digs his nails into his palms and waits, because he can't think of anything else to do. His mouth tastes like ash and disappointment.

He can hear the resignation in Sokka's sigh. "Zuko," he starts, and then stops.

Zuko looks up. Sokka is toying with the ends of his arm wrappings, his gaze distant. When he speaks again, his words are halting, hesitant. He doesn't look at Zuko. "Okay. I know that…this isn't really something you want to talk about. So, I won't pressure you. I can wait, no matter how long it takes. But, for now, how about we just…put it behind us?"

He looks at Zuko then, and his eyes are so piercing and earnest that Zuko almost forgets how to breathe.

"Zuko, I hate this. I hate…not talking to you. I hate not being around you. I mean…you're my best friend, right? And I—I don't want that to change." He swallows and looks away. "I miss you."

Zuko's heart hammers, and he opens his mouth to say something, anything to reach out to Sokka, anything to let him know that he's there, that he feels the same, that he misses him too. "Sokka—"

"So, let's just forget about it, okay?"

Zuko freezes, his hand stopping inches away from Sokka's arm. He exhales quietly, curling his fingers into a fist and dropping his hands into his lap. His voice is quiet when he answers, "Okay."

They stay like that until Iroh comes back: Zuko looking at Sokka, and Sokka looking away.

…

It happens so slowly that Zuko almost doesn't notice it.

At first, there are still moments when Zuko has to fight the overwhelming urge to lean over and run his hands under Sokka's shirt and his lips across his neck. All too often he finds himself swallowing past the dryness in his throat when he's with Sokka; when they spar—when they eat—when Sokka pulls off his shirt, complaining loudly about the heat—when he pulls out the tie from his hair and runs his fingers through the strands—

But then—slowly—gradually—imperceptibly—it becomes more than that.

Sokka laughing, and Zuko blooms warmth from deep in his gut to the tips of his fingers. The light catching, turning Sokka's hair to dancing waves of flame, and Zuko's heart stutters in his chest. Their hands brushing, innocently, as they walk through the plush halls of the palace, and Zuko's stomach ties itself into desperate, incomprehensible knots. Sokka grinning, his eyes alight and bright and beautiful, and Zuko loses the ability to speak.

It takes a while, but Zuko finally figures it out.

It's not abrupt and jarring, a splash of freezing water sending him sputtering and reeling, his mind spinning with the realization. It's not a sudden, grandiose epiphany striking him in the middle of the day, overriding his thoughts and seizing his soul.

No. It's soft, and it's warm and welcome and inevitable. It's the truth, and it feels like coming home.

He's in love with Sokka.

…

"Zuko?"

Zuko doesn't bother opening his eyes, and tips his head back drowsily against the trunk of the tree. "Hmm?"

Sokka has his head nestled comfortably in Zuko's lap, and Zuko cards his fingers lazily through the other boy's hair. It's soft and smooth, flowing between his knuckles like water, and though Zuko would never admit it, he prefers it when Sokka leaves his hair down like this.

Sokka's weight shifts and settles against Zuko's legs, and he mumbles something that Zuko doesn't quite catch. He cracks one eye open and squints down at Sokka, dutifully ignoring the way his breath snags and stumbles when they lock eyes.

"What?" he says.

Sokka shifts again, his eyes flitting away from Zuko's, and Zuko would almost be disappointed if it weren't for the unmistakeable blush blooming across Sokka's cheeks.

"I, uh, I said, um…" Sokka stops and squeezes his eyes shut, his breath leaving him in a long, drawn-out sigh. Zuko's hands still in Sokka's hair, and he waits, counting every nervous beat of his heart.

Sokka blinks his eyes open, and he fixes Zuko with his icy blue stare. Zuko freezes—there's something there, something hard and defiant and determined—and for a moment he's terrified. But then Sokka speaks, and his voice is soft and uncertain and _shy_ : "I said, can I kiss you?"

 _Oh._

And now Zuko feels like he's burning, burning from the inside out, every inch of him sparking with tiny bolts of lightning. All he can do is stare at Sokka, his cheeks hot, mouth open in a silent "o" of surprise, and try to come up with something to say, because his mind has apparently decided to replay Sokka's words on a loop and nothing else.

Sokka looks both parts expectant and terrified, his eyes flicking between Zuko's, as he waits for an answer. But Zuko can't move, can't breathe, can't think, and Sokka's face seems to crumple, bit by bit. He drops his gaze, sighing, and lifts himself up from Zuko's lap. Zuko only belatedly registers the loss of Sokka's warmth against his legs, and it's just as he feels Sokka's hair slipping from his fingers that he manages to react, his hand darting out and catching Sokka's arm before he can stand and—spirits forbid it— _leave_. Zuko's chest tightens.

"Sokka, wait, I—I didn't mean," Zuko stammers, heart pounding. Sokka stops, but he doesn't turn around. Zuko abruptly realizes how _warm_ Sokka's skin is under his palm, so warm he feels like it might burn him, but he doesn't let go.

"Sokka, no, I—I meant, um." Zuko clears his throat and steels himself, blushing furiously. "What I meant is, will you—will you please kiss me?"

Sokka turns around then, and Zuko's breath catches, because he looks _beautiful:_ his eyes bright and clear, his smile nervous and soft, his cheeks flushed an endearing shade of red, his hair tousled and flopping clumsily over his forehead, and all Zuko can think is, _I'm so in love with him._

Then Sokka laughs, a relieved, pearly laugh, and Zuko can breathe again, the nervous knot in his chest unraveling—and now it feels like a ribbon, bright red and glistening, looping out to tie Sokka to him and tugging, tugging, tugging, a gentle insistent pull. Sokka follows, turning and settling to trap Zuko's legs between his knees, and Zuko holds his breath until Sokka is close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"Of course," Sokka whispers, and Zuko smiles. He exhales shakily, every muscle and nerve drawn tight enough to snap, his skin tingling with anticipation.

Sokka leans in, his breath dusting across Zuko's heated cheeks. This close, Zuko can see the nervousness laid bare on Sokka's face. "Is this okay?" Sokka asks, hesitant. His eyes flicker between Zuko's, searching and searing, and they're so endlessly blue and bright that Zuko feels like he's losing himself in the sea. He swallows and nods, a breathless "Yeah," escaping his lips. He stares at Sokka's mouth as it quirks into a small smile.

Sokka takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of seconds, and whispers, "Okay, okay," a quiet reassurance. Then his fingers are against Zuko's chin, a feather-light touch, gentle and flighty, only the slightest tremble betraying his nervousness. He tilts Zuko's chin up, pressing closer.

"Good?" he says, millimetres from Zuko's lips. Zuko's breath hitches, and he clutches at the grass beneath him.

"Good," he breathes, barely audible. His blood pounds in his ears, and it feels like his fire is rising up, flowing from his core to the very edge of his existence. Sokka is so close, so close…

"Good," Sokka echoes, barely a whisper, and Zuko's eyes slide shut a mere second before he feels Sokka's lips against his own.

It's soft and tentative and so, so gentle that Zuko is afraid to move, for fear of ruining it. Sokka's lips are light against his, light and tender as a butterfly-moth. Zuko thinks he could melt into a puddle with the way warmth is blossoming through his chest, spreading all the way to the tips of his fingers. They stay frozen like that, the barest brushing of lips, suspended in a single moment. There's a crystalline stillness to it that both of them are reluctant to break.

It's shattered when Sokka pulls away after spirits know how long, drawing in a long, shuddering breath. Zuko sucks in a gulp of air and slowly opens his eyes, blinking in the sudden brightness. Sokka lets out a breathless chuckle and rests his forehead against Zuko's, dropping his hand from Zuko's chin to brace his arm against the trunk of the tree behind Zuko.

"Good?" Sokka asks, his voice quiet.

"Good," Zuko says, and grins, lips tingling from the kiss. He feels euphoric, a bubbling happiness rising up in his chest and threatening to spill out as laughter.

"Good." And Sokka grins, too, bright and genuine. Zuko feels the flush spread across his face, and then they're both laughing, deliriously happy.

"Zuko?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you again?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Sokka cups Zuko's cheek and leans in, tentatively brushing his lips against Zuko's, a split second of hesitation, before he's pressing in closer, harder. Zuko's heart stutters in his chest, and then he's pushing back, lips moving against Sokka's. He feels weightless, the only thing anchoring him to the earth the feeling of Sokka's mouth on his own, the bark digging into his back, the give and take of their kiss.

It's different than before. It's a bit clumsy, sure, their noses bumping when they try to deepen the kiss, both of them pulling away to share a brief moment of laughter before leaning back in—but it's easier, more natural, bolder. There's no hesitation—only certainty.

Zuko slides his hands up Sokka's thighs, up, up, to clutch at his tunic, fingers digging into the fabric. Sokka hums and slides his fingers from Zuko's cheek into his hair, and then _grips_ , and Zuko draws back with a gasp. Sokka takes this as an invitation to bite at Zuko's bottom lip, and Zuko's stomach drops. He sighs and pulls harder at Sokka's tunic, because _oh spirits._

There's a noticeable hitch in Sokka's breath, and then he pulls away the tiniest fraction to whisper against Zuko's lips. "I, ah—" he starts, his voice almost a moan, and then pauses to press a kiss against the corner of Zuko's mouth. "Mm, Zuko." Another kiss. "I, ah." Another. "Really like." And another. "Kissing you."

Zuko smiles, his chest light and giddy, and presses back against Sokka's lips. "I really like kissing you too."

He pulls back with laughter on his lips, and when he opens his eyes, he finds Sokka staring at him with the utmost look of adoration on his face. Zuko feels himself flush.

"You look stupid," he says, and pushes Sokka's face away with a laugh.

Sokka reels, laughing, and ducks back in press a sloppy kiss to Zuko's cheek—the unscarred side—and then whispers teasingly into Zuko's ear, "You know you love it."

Zuko's heart skips, and then hammers wildly in his chest. _Oh, you don't even know,_ Zuko wants to tell him.

But then Sokka reaches for Zuko's hand and presses it to his chest, his fingers splayed over Sokka's heart, and Zuko can feel every breath he takes, every heartbeat. And then Sokka kisses him, and Zuko feels the hitch in his breath, the stutter of his pulse, the warm, warm press of his lips; and he thinks, _or maybe he does._


	2. part ii

**a/n:** part ii is entirely smut. just. foreplay and sex. just lettin y'all know

* * *

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zuko thinks that this might be a bad idea. His guards are standing right outside his door, there's a stack of scrolls on his desk that need to be looked at, they have things to negotiate and meetings to attend to in the morning…

Then Sokka kisses his neck, and Zuko stops thinking altogether.

Sometime that evening, they'd moved from short, casual kisses as they slowly sipped at a bottle of sake, their minds softly buzzing from the alcohol; to Zuko pinned between the wall and Sokka, panting hotly and sloppily into each other's mouths; to Sokka pushing Zuko back onto the bed and draping himself across the other boy, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other in long, inky hair, to press deep, lingering kisses onto Zuko's lips, heat blooming damp and stifling between them. They're both still fully clothed, but Zuko can feel the warmth rolling off of Sokka in waves, bleeding into his skin, melting him into a puddle of desire under Sokka's lips. Zuko sighs, hot and needy, and arches against him, his fingers catching and snagging in the back of Sokka's tunic.

Zuko doesn't try to smother the dull ache rising in him, urging him to get _closer_ , to take _more_ , to do terrible, _terrible_ things to the boy pressed against him. Instead, he lets it engulf him, lets it guide his hands past deep blue fabric to the burning skin beneath, and he pulls and tugs, his mind sharp and unfocused all at once, until it falls away and he's free to run his hands over the smooth ridges and valleys of Sokka's chest. Sokka makes a small noise, huffing against Zuko's neck, and Zuko shudders at the syrupy gust of air against his skin.

This is the farthest they've gone before—long, languid kisses and hands roaming beneath shirts and quiet gasps pressed into the sheets—but tonight feels different. Zuko wants _more_ ; wants to feel Sokka's mouth on his skin, feverish and wet; wants to hear his voice, twisted into a moan; wants to taste him, hot and heavy on his tongue…

"Sokka," he gasps, and Sokka soothes over the bite with his tongue, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his skin.

"Sokka," he says again, as he feels lips travel from his neck to the underside of his jaw, slow and sensual, until they finally reach his mouth.

"Sokka," he exhales into Sokka's mouth, their breaths mingling hot and humid. Zuko feels almost dizzy, his nails scoring lines down Sokka's sides as he scrabbles to anchor himself.

Zuko turns his head, breaking the kiss to suck in a heaving breath, the thrumming of his pulse loud in his ears. Sokka has managed to work one of his hands under Zuko's tunic, his fingers teasing playfully along his stomach, and Zuko's breath hitches as he lifts his gaze to Sokka's. His eyes are heavy-lidded and dark, the normally bright blue deepened to a dusky indigo, his kiss-swollen lips parted as he pants onto Zuko's face. He still has his hair tied up into his wolftail, but just barely, and the rogue strands hang to brush the tops of his cheekbones. Something deep in Zuko's gut curls with lust even as his heart constricts with tenderness, and he reaches up to pull the tie free from Sokka's hair. Sokka watches Zuko with a bemused smile, his eyes softening into something fond and exposed.

"Hey," Zuko says. His voice is quiet and husky.

"Hey," Sokka says.

"We should…" Zuko swallows thickly—between the alcohol and Sokka's burning stare, he can hardly focus. "We should…"

"We should what?" Sokka murmurs. He leans down to nose along Zuko's jawline, propped up on his elbows on either side of his head, his lips barely skimming Zuko's fevered skin. His stomach swoops and he inhales sharply, struggling to recollect his scattered thoughts.

"We should, ah, do something…something else," he manages to choke out.

Sokka stops and draws back, and Zuko is equal parts relieved and disappointed. Sokka stares down at him with wide eyes, pupils blown to inky black pools. "Something else?"

"Yeah. I mean, if you—if you want," Zuko says. He feels suddenly nervous, and he licks his lips, his heart thumping hard and erratic in his chest.

Sokka's eyes flicker down to his mouth, a split second of warning before he's kissing him again, firm and warm. "Yes, yes, yes," Sokka chants against his lips, laughing. "Yes, yes, _yes_."

And Zuko laughs too, his chest flushing with relief. He curls his fingers into Sokka's hair, pulling him closer, and he thinks, _I love him_.

One of Sokka's hands drifts lower, skimming down Zuko's front, to unfasten the sash around his waist. Sokka slides his palm, warm and dry, up Zuko's abdomen, parting his tunic to reveal the skin underneath.

"Zuko, can I kiss you here? Is that okay?" Sokka asks, his lips moving against Zuko's cheek. He sounds nervous.

It takes Zuko a moment to find his voice. "Yes," he says. "Very."

He feels Sokka grin, and then he presses a quick kiss to Zuko's lips before sliding down his body. He does it slowly—lingering to pepper kisses to Zuko's neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, teasing, teasing, teasing—before finally, _finally_ flitting lower.

Zuko unintentionally tenses when he feels the first brush of Sokka's lips against his skin, just above his navel, and he forces himself to relax, exhaling slowly and loosening his grip in Sokka's hair.

Sokka stops, blinking up at Zuko through his eyelashes. They're short and dark, a fact that Zuko has noted countless times before. "Are you okay?" Sokka asks.

"Yeah. I'm fine. _Great_ , actually," Zuko says. "It's great. Just—keep going." His voice sounds strained even to his own ears.

Sokka smiles and ducks his head down to kiss the trail of hair leading down into Zuko's trousers. He runs his hands up Zuko's sides, trailing fire in his wake, and—Zuko can't help it. He giggles.

Sokka's eyebrows shoot up. Pressing another kiss to Zuko's skin, his smile grows wider when Zuko twitches and snorts in response. Zuko bites down on his lip, trying in vain to stifle his laughter. He casts his eyes up to the ceiling, dropping his hands to grip the sheets, searching desperately for something to focus on.

"Zuko…" Sokka says. Zuko's not looking at him, but he can perfectly picture the shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Are you ticklish?"

"No! No, I'm not," Zuko says—and then he giggles. "Not—not _usually._ I just—" He stops, his breath coming out in fits and starts. Sokka kisses his stomach, and his toes curl.

He can't really explain it. He's not usually ticklish, but he just feels so keyed up, every nerve buzzing and sensitive, even the slightest touch enough to send him reeling—and the cheap sake coursing through his veins probably isn't helping matters.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sokka asks.

"Yes! I mean, no, no, I mean—" Zuko forces himself to stop and take a breath. "I mean, yes, stop the—the tickling. Please. But I don't want to stop _this."_

"Okay," Sokka says. He lifts himself up until he's face to face with Zuko. "What do you want to do?"

Sokka's weight is warm against Zuko, skin to skin, his knee pressing almost but not quite where Zuko wants it the most…

"Um," Zuko says. Impulsively, he yanks at the lapels of Sokka's tunic, pulling him down and fitting their lips together. Sokka makes a surprised noise, but then he kisses him back, falling deeper into Zuko, pressing closer, tighter until… _there_.

Zuko gasps into Sokka's mouth. Sokka bites down on his lip, and Zuko bucks against his leg, pure feeling shooting like lightning through his nerves.

Abruptly, Sokka wrenches his mouth away, staring wide-eyed down at Zuko. His face is flushed an adorable shade of red. "Sorry! Shit, sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to do that. Are you okay? I _swear_ I didn't mean to do that," he says.

"It's okay! Sokka, it's okay. You don't have to apologize. It's okay." He laughs nervously. "Uh, actually, it was, um." Zuko swallows—Sokka hasn't moved his knee yet. "It was…really good."

"It was?" Sokka says. Zuko watches, transfixed, as Sokka's tongue darts out to lick his lips. He nods.

Zuko's stomach swoops when Sokka crushes his mouth to his, biting and sucking, hard and wet and raw. He slides his hands around Sokka's waist, pulling him tighter until there's not an inch of space left between them, Sokka's weight settling heavily against him, until the only thing he can think is Sokka, Sokka, _Sokka._ He fills his senses, muddling his brain: the smell of his sweat, the taste of his lips, the heat of his skin, the small breathy sounds that he makes as they kiss, high-pitched and carnal…

Sokka rolls his hips against Zuko's thigh, hard and insistent. Zuko gasps and grinds back, and suddenly the only thing he can think is that he wants him in his mouth, _now._

"Sokka," he tries to say, but Sokka kisses him right behind his ear and _sucks_ , and it comes out more like a moan. _Sokkaaa…_

A scrape of teeth against his neck, but Sokka doesn't bite. Not quite.

Zuko kind of wants him to.

He shifts and hums, sliding his hands lower, lower, until his hands brush the waistband of Sokka's trousers. He stops there, waiting for any sign of rejection, but Sokka just grinds onto him, panting hotly into the curve of his neck.

Carefully, Zuko dips his fingers below the waistband, seeking skin. Sokka moans and arches against him in response, a smooth sinuous curve of his spine. The burning in Zuko's core flares up again, almost too much to bear, and his hips stutter, working against Sokka's. Pleasure surges through him, a hot, searing wave.

"Sokka," Zuko pants. "Sokka, I want…I want…"

"You want what?" Sokka's voice comes out unsteady, broken by his harsh pants. "Tell me. Anything—anything you want, I'll give it to you. Just say it."

"I want—" Sokka bites at Zuko's neck, and he whines, high and plaintive. "I want to taste you."

Sokka's hips jerk against his. "Spirits, _yes."_

He lets Zuko roll them over so that he's on top, straddling Sokka's hips, his hands braced on his chest. Zuko takes a moment to admire Sokka, sprawled out before him. Flushed brown skin; hair wild and tousled; plush, kiss-swollen lips; eyes half-lidded and darkened with lust. Zuko can feel Sokka, hard and wanting, between his thighs, and it takes nearly all of his self-restraint to not simply grind down and push them both over the edge that way.

Instead, Zuko leans down and kisses Sokka, slow and tender, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Is this okay?" he asks when he pulls away.

Sokka nods and grins, quickly, nervously. Zuko smiles back at him, to reassure the both of them, really.

He starts by pressing a kiss to Sokka's collarbone, open-mouthed and hot, and then works his way down, slow and methodical. Sokka doesn't react in the same way Zuko did, which is surprising, because Zuko knows that under different circumstances, Sokka is _horribly_ ticklish. Instead, he seems to melt into the sheets, curling languidly towards Zuko's body, pleasure written in every line of his body.

Zuko learns something else, too, when he kisses Sokka's nipple. Sokka sucks in a sharp breath, his hips jerking against Zuko. Zuko startles—draped as he is between Sokka's spread knees, he can feel every minute movement, and he's not expecting the reaction. But then Zuko does it again, lathing his tongue over Sokka's nipple, and Sokka _keens_ , arching up towards Zuko's mouth.

" _Fuck,"_ Zuko whispers against Sokka's skin. Sokka lets out a breathless laugh in response, his face flushed; in embarrassment or arousal, Zuko can't tell. Probably both.

"I didn't know you were a fan of that," Zuko says, grinning up at him.

"I didn't know I was either," Sokka says. Zuko watches his throat bob as he swallows.

"Should I keep going, or…?"

"Um. Maybe another time." Sokka laughs. "I'm worked up enough as it is."

"I can tell." Zuko didn't think that it was possible, but somehow Sokka blushes even darker.

"Spirits, you're such an _ass._ I can't remember why I ever wanted to have sex with you," Sokka says, flinging an arm up over his eyes in mortification. "Just—just get on with it already. I need a distraction."

"If you say so," Zuko laughs.

He presses one last kiss to Sokka's nipple, just for the hell of it—Sokka twitches and yelps, "Zuko!"—before sidling down until he reaches the waistband of Sokka's trousers. He traces the skin there with one finger, hesitating.

"Have you ever done this before?" Sokka asks.

"No. But…I've thought about it a lot." _About you_ , is what he doesn't say. "Have you?"

"Yeah, but it was just a one time thing, and I was pretty drunk."

"You're pretty drunk now."

Sokka grins. "That's true. But this is different, you know that, right?"

"Of course," Zuko says, something soft and warm rising in his chest. "Sorry, I'm just—I want to do this right."

"Do you—do you want me to talk you through it?" Sokka asks. He's propped up on his elbows now, looking down at Zuko.

"No, don't worry about it. Just tell me if I do something wrong, okay?"

"Okay."

Zuko hooks his fingers in the waistband of Sokka's trousers and, with an upward glance in his direction, tugs. He shifts back onto his knees, exposing more and more of Sokka's skin as he goes; his heart races. Sokka kicks off the trousers, and they land somewhere on the floor with a soft _whump._ Zuko stares, mouth dry, at the tent in Sokka's underwear.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," Sokka says, quiet.

"No, I want to." Zuko meets his eyes. Sokka stares back at him, his gaze burning. "You have no idea how much I want to."

Sokka swallows.

Zuko ducks down, his hands splayed on Sokka's thighs. He inhales, Sokka's thick, musky scent overwhelming and all-encompassing. With one last glance up at Sokka's face, Zuko dips his head and mouths, hot and damp, at the outline of Sokka's cock.

He hears Sokka's breath stutter, a quiet moan escaping and drifting. Fingers slide into his hair and tighten, pulling dully. Zuko's eyes flutter shut, and he exhales, slow and deep, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the cotton, savouring the heat and hardness beneath.

He marks a trail from Sokka's cock to the inside of his thigh. He leaves a wet, hard kiss there, sucking at the skin, marking him with a soft scrape of teeth, and Sokka shudders, spreading his legs wider. Zuko feels his own arousal flare up, curling through his abdomen, muted and dizzying.

He sits up, running his hands up Sokka's thighs to his waist, smoothing his fingers over sweat-dampened skin. Sokka drops his hands, tangling his fingers in the sheets, bracing. Zuko drifts downwards, stroking over his muscles, thrumming with energy, his hipbones, bold and stark. Sokka's hips cant up, and Zuko watches, mesmerized, as the muscles in his abdomen jump and bunch and pull, a sensual, effortless flow of tension.

"Sokka," Zuko murmurs. "Can I…?" He bunches the fabric of Sokka's underwear in his grip.

"Yes," Sokka gasps. Zuko's stomach clenches at the raw, pleading note in his voice.

With a single jerk, Zuko tugs the fabric down Sokka's legs. Sokka's cock bobs, tilting up towards his stomach, hard and wanting. Zuko's hips jolt instinctively at the sight, and he becomes acutely aware of how stifling his own trousers feel, the dull, insistent ache of his own erection.

"Spirits," Zuko says. Sokka laughs quietly.

Zuko settles down onto his stomach, between Sokka's spread legs. Heat pools in his belly; his pulse spikes. He hooks one arm around Sokka's thigh, hiking it up over his shoulder, splaying his hand across Sokka's abdomen. Zuko can feel the muscles clench under his palm when he leans forward, his breath fanning across Sokka's erection.

Slowly, deliberately, he licks a long stripe up the underside of Sokka's cock.

Sokka moans, low and drawn out.

Zuko pauses. "Good?" he asks.

"Good," Sokka says. He sounds breathless.

"Good," Zuko says, a smile tugging at his lips.

And then he moves to take Sokka's cock into his mouth.

Sokka gasps, loud and startled, and his hips twitch, just barely restraining himself from jerking up into Zuko's mouth. Zuko can feel the heaving of his chest beneath his fingers, the tension coiled in his muscles. Impulsively, he drags his nails down Sokka's skin, and Sokka whines, his head pressing back into the sheets, neck arching. It's the most erotic thing Zuko has ever seen.

Closing his eyes, he sucks Sokka deeper, curling his other hand around the base, hard and thick. He lathes his tongue over the head, somewhat clumsily; but Sokka doesn't seem to mind, a guttural groan rumbling through his chest. In fact, Sokka seems to get progressively louder, more vocal, as Zuko works his cock.

"Oh, _fuck_ , Zuko," he keens when Zuko kisses the tip of his cock, hand pumping, spit-slick and sloppy.

"Spirits, spirits, _fuck._ Fuck, Zuko, oh my spirits," he rasps when Zuko hollows his cheeks and sucks; wet, obscene sounds mingling with Sokka's moans.

"Zuko, I'm—I'm going to—" he chokes out, arching up off the bed. Zuko pulls back, curling his fingers around Sokka's cock and stroking. He watches, his mind hazy with desire, as Sokka comes, pure energy in flesh, a spectacular release of tension, all clenching muscle and sinew. His throat works as he cries out, slamming his head back, hands fisting and pulling at the sheets.

Zuko releases Sokka as he comes down, unwrapping his arm from around his thigh and letting it drop. He eyes the mess on Sokka's stomach and thinks, inexplicably, that he wants to taste it.

"Zuko, what are you doing?" Sokka rasps. He sounds utterly wrecked.

"I want to taste you," Zuko says, and then he ducks his head down to lick at Sokka's come.

It tastes…odd. Slightly salty, and musky, but not terrible. He licks at the rest of it, and when he looks up, he finds Sokka staring at him, his cheeks flushed, lips parted as he pants.

"Honestly, Zuko, it's like you're trying to kill me," Sokka says, propped up on his elbows.

"Is it working?" Zuko says, grinning.

Sokka throws his head back and laughs. When he looks back at Zuko, his eyes are bright and soft and achingly tender. He lifts one hand to brush a strand of hair away from Zuko's face, tucking it behind his ear, brushing his scar. Zuko's heart stutters, and he feels himself flush.

"So, how was it?" he asks.

Sokka shrugs. "Eh, it was okay."

Zuko tries not to pout.

"I'm kidding!" Sokka laughs. "Zuko, it was amazing. Honestly. That was the best blowjob of my entire life. I don't want to move ever again, it was that good."

Zuko cracks a grin. "How many blowjobs have you had before?"

"Two. Including this one." Zuko snorts. " _But_ , it was still the best of the two. So."

"I feel honoured."

"You should. Blowing Sokka is a privilege in and of itself."

Zuko rolls his eyes. "I'm sure."

Sokka smacks his arm. "Don't be a jerk, Jerkbender."

Zuko laughs, and then he leans up to kiss Sokka. Sokka sighs happily into his mouth and lies back, pulling Zuko on top of him, one hand tangling in his hair, the other dipping down to finger the waist of Zuko's trousers.

"I can't believe you're still wearing these," Sokka mumbles. Zuko laughs into his mouth, nipping playfully at his lip.

"Do you want to do something about it?" he says.

"Fuck yes," Sokka answers. He moves to sit up, and Zuko rolls off of him, staring at him expectantly.

"Stand up," Sokka says, and Zuko obeys, sliding off the bed, Sokka following. Zuko pulls off his unbound tunic—he's not quite sure why he wore it the whole time; it's terribly thick and stifling— and moves to undo the tie holding his trousers up, but Sokka stops him, pushing at his chest.

"Don't. I'll do it," he says, pushing Zuko backwards until his back connects with the wall. Something rattles dangerously, but Zuko can't find it in himself to care. He's too distracted by the hungry look in Sokka's eyes—it makes his stomach clench and his heart race, sending blood straight to his groin.

Without any preamble, Sokka drops to his knees, two deliberate, solid _thunks_ , one after the other. He looks up at Zuko through his eyelashes as he fumbles with the tie to Zuko's trousers.

"I'm sorry," Sokka says. "I've been wanting to do this for months, and I really don't think I can wait any longer."

Something in Zuko's chests catches at his words, his thoughts tripping and tumbling over themselves, wild and erratic. There's only one thing that he manages to focus on: _for months._ He and Sokka haven't even been 'together' for that long. It sends him reeling, and his desire redoubles, almost suffocating in its urgency.

There's a distinct shift in the atmosphere, so thick and charged now that Zuko can almost taste it, electricity dancing across his tongue. Sokka seems to feel it too, and he pulls harder at the ties, cursing when they tangle and refuse to come undone. Zuko fidgets with impatience—he's almost painfully hard, and every unintentional brush of Sokka's hands against his cock sends tiny tremors shooting up his spine.

"Damn it, Sokka, let me do it," Zuko hisses, unable to stand it any longer. Sokka sits back to watch, and Zuko pinches the tie between his fingers, summoning his fire. It comes ridiculously easily—it feels like it's been burning just below his skin ever since their first kiss that night, and it takes but the merest thought to call it to the surface. The tie burns away beneath his fingers, steady and controlled.

Sokka watches his hands as he does it, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. When he looks up at Zuko, his eyes are dark, cheeks flushed and hair tousled. Zuko imagines that he must look much the same.

"Have I ever mentioned how hot it is when you firebend?" Sokka says, his voice low and raspy.

"Literally, or…?" Zuko asks, grinning.

Sokka laughs. "I think I'm rubbing off on you."

"Literally, or…?" Zuko says again, his smile widening.

Sokka rolls his eyes, failing to smother the grin on his face. "You know, ordinarily I'd be proud of your rapidly improving skills as a pun master. But I really don't think _literally right as I'm about to blow you_ is the right time."

"I don't know. I think it's nice," Zuko says.

"Oh spirits, just shut up, will you?" Sokka curls his fingers into the waistband of Zuko's trousers. "From now on, I'm banning anything that comes out of your mouth that isn't a moan or you screaming my name."

Zuko raises an eyebrow at him, but keeps his mouth shut.

Sokka grins and presses a kiss to Zuko's stomach, and Zuko twitches, a bright burst of laughter escaping from his lips.

Sokka swats at his leg. "What did I just say?"

"Sorry," Zuko says, pressing one hand to his mouth to stifle his giggles. "I'll try harder."

"Good." Then Sokka, without any warning, tugs both Zuko's trousers and underwear down in one fell swoop, and takes Zuko's cock into his mouth. Zuko bites down on his fist, muffling his gasp, and his head falls back against the wall with a dull, hollow thud. Sokka's eyes flicker closed when Zuko's hips jerk forward, deeper into his mouth, but then he's staring up at Zuko, dark and burning.

Sokka swirls his tongue around the tip, and Zuko whines into his hand, his eyes fluttering shut. He feels overwhelmed—it's hot and it's slick and it's raw, pleasure rolling over him, ebbing and flowing like the tide—and he knows, with an almost tragic certainty, that this will, by all accounts, be embarrassingly short.

He looks down at Sokka, his chest heaving. He's still wearing his tunic, draped over his shoulders—Zuko loves his shoulders; he wants to kiss them—the blue stark against Sokka's dark brown skin. Zuko feels a sudden, heady rush of affection, and he combs his fingers through Sokka's hair, pushing it back off of his forehead. Sokka pulls away from Zuko's cock, and a sudden wave of pleasure crests over him at the feeling, wet suction and movement, and he can't help the small moan that escapes him. Sokka grins up at him, his lips swollen and red, and then leans into Zuko's touch, his eyes flitting shut.

Zuko's heart swells. _I love you_ , he wants to say.

Sokka takes up pumping Zuko with his hand, his palm firm against him, fingers curled tight, hard and slipping. Zuko's fingers tighten in Sokka's hair, and he drops his head back against the wall, his mouth falling open on a quiet moan. " _Sokka…"_

"That doesn't really sound like a scream," comes Sokka's voice, sultry and teasing all at once.

"Not really…a screamer," Zuko pants.

But then Sokka licks a long, slow stripe up Zuko's cock before taking him into his mouth, and Zuko thinks that maybe he could be a screamer, if he tried.

Zuko chokes back on a moan when he feels Sokka take him in deeper, swallowing around him. He can feel himself hurtling towards a precipice, fire curling through his veins, coiling and snaking, rising up…

Sokka swallows around him again, and Zuko groans openly, a lick of flame dancing off his tongue. Sokka's hands are tight on his hips, gripping, bruising, holding him back as he jerks forward, seeking pleasure, seeking relief. He's so close, so close—

"Sokka, I'm so close—I'm going to come—" Zuko keens, his eyes screwed shut, pulling at Sokka's hair in warning. But Sokka ignores him, sucking, licking, stroking, and Zuko almost cries out, it's too much, he's going to come.

Sokka swallows, and the precipice, the edge is right there, and Zuko is tipping, falling, coming into Sokka's mouth. He scrabbles at the wall behind him, twists his fingers into Sokka's hair, searching for something to hold onto as his fire flares within him, as his pleasure crests and comes crashing down—there's smoke in his mouth and the sea roaring in his ears, and he feels hot and cold all at once, splintering and rippling. He wants to scream, wants to scream, _I love you_ , into the empty air for nobody and everybody to hear, but he doesn't, he doesn't and instead he settles for his name—" _Sokka!"_

And Sokka is there, standing before him, warm and real and beautiful and Zuko is so in love with him, he's so in love with him but he doesn't know how to say it, can't say it—even after all this time he still can't say it.

Sokka takes Zuko's face in his hands, pressing their foreheads, their lips together, soft and tender, and then he's saying it against Zuko's mouth, "I love you, Zuko, I love you so fucking much. _Fuck_ , I love you, I love you, I love you."

And suddenly, Zuko finds that he can say it, he can finally say it, and he whispers it between them, their breaths mingling hot and damp. It's freedom, and it's like coming home, it's like finding himself, it's like nothing he's ever felt before, _I love you…_


End file.
